Bone Orchard
by A Whisper None Can Hear
Summary: The story of a girl who finds her perfect match in the middle of the apocalypse, though their love's not all shits and giggles. He's a man wearing the veneer of everything she hates, but maybe…maybe he's everything she's been looking for. Daryl/OC. Set in Season 2.
1. Walking

Bone Orchard

Chapter One

_Walking_

**Summary: The story of a girl who finds her perfect match in the middle of the apocalypse, though their love's not all shits and giggles. He's a man wearing the veneer of everything she hates, but maybe…maybe he's everything she's been looking for. Daryl/OC**

The atmosphere was wrought with the plaguing sting of Florida's "all-year-Summer" heat. Condensation settled along the exposed skin of her arms, shoulders, and face, sticky residual moisture leaving her uncomfortable and prickly. The Carlsbad cowboy hat on her head did little to block the scorching brightness of the sun's rays. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and it hadn't rained for days-this she knew from the water level of the canal along the side of the road. On either side of the freeway sat miles of grassland, saw grass reaching for the heavens and muddy water sweeping through the roots, and she had already seen at least 30 alligators. It was no wonder they called it Alligator Alley; she was just glad they hadn't strayed from the opposite end of the bank to her path. Walkers she could handle, they were slow and stupid, but 400-pound long-mouths? Not going to happen. She'd take off running (in a curving fashion like her Momma always told her) before the first gun shot fired.

With a sigh, Pearl shrugged her large pack off her shoulders, rolling them to ease the tension of her deltoids. She pulled the water bottle from the side pocket, narrowing her electrifying gray-blue eyes at its half full status. Licking her dry lips, she unscrewed the cap and took a sip, reveling in the revitalizing feel of liquid coating her throat, even if it was warm. Putting it back in its rightful place, she readjusted her bag and continued walking, closing her eyes to the distinct, rhythmic _Kr-clack Kr-clack_ of her shit kickers.

What she wouldn't give for air-conditioning right then and there. A leather seat to sink into and the radio on high enough to drown out the silence with soft country rock. She wished she had her car, Betsy, a nice old Ford pickup restored by her Pops before he passed. She'd had it since her sixteenth birthday, but it had been a necessary sacrifice during the outbreak. Betsy'd taken out a good half of a Herd of lame-brains before crashing over the concrete sidewall on 595. Pearl had been able to get gone fairly quickly after that, but that didn't mean she didn't miss Betsy and all of her big-and-beastly luxuries.

Hell, she'd hitchhike if there were any cars in sight.

Opening her eyes once again, Pearl unconsciously brushed her fingers against the familiar grip of her Louisville Slugger, idly pressing into the small indentation on the side. Her stomach let out a bellowing sound of hunger. It was so loud in her isolation, she wouldn't have been surprised if a flock of egrets wasn't startled into flight by it. All she had left in her backpack was a couple Quaker bars and a handful of Wendy's crackers. Her gaze darted to the side, where an alligator rested immobile, black, threatening scales warming in the sun.

Damn it! She'd skinned cattle on the farm back in Austin, plucked turkeys and chickens bald, and wrestled a calf out of the dying form of its mother—maybe she'd have alligator tonight.

Letting out a breath, Pearl pulled her hair out of the two low ponytails it was in, quickly retying them so that her wavy layers were out of her face. Then she began walking again.

Walking.

_Walking. _

Not to sound the croaker, but every God-damned soul was probably walking some way or another nowadays. Dead men, dying men; they were all walking towards something—probably the same thing. She was smart enough to realize—Hell, she was probably one of the smartest people left alive—that her momma was probably already dead, _walking _up in their little Podunk Georgia town.

Pearl let out a quiet sigh, pursing her lips in silent reproach. The only family she had left was her mother and as much as it pained her to admit it, the chances of her still breathing without death following her like fleas on a border collie were slim to none. Nearly the opposite of Pearl, Anne Mabel Orionte weighed about twice as much as her and barely reached her shoulders on a good day, her sternum on the days where life bent her back into a near Hunchback of Notre Dame slump of fatigue. Before her daddy passed, those days had been few and far between, but the past three years of widowhood had been hard on dear Anne, aging her into early seniority and coloring her brunette curls grey and limp.

Pearl had been the one to take care of the farm, sleeping little hours each night to get up before the rooster and take care of business. She'd have gone up the flume before she let her beloved farm come a cropper. Anne's health had petered out day by day and Pearl, unable to stand watching her momma waste into nothing, had quickly fled for the Ivy Leagues on her full scholarship to Harvard. It was selfish and unforgivable, but Pearl could do nothing about it now. She wouldn't pass the buck and say it wasn't her fault, but lingering on what had been sad and inevitable would do her no good.

However, she needed to know for certain, else she'd be just like the hard cases back home, just like those assholes she was running from.

"_Darlin'."_

That was what they'd called her.

If there was one thing that could get her going, it was pet names, any and all so-called "endearments." Where she came from, the sweltering outskirts of Senoia, where "redneck" was a style on par with _hipsta-fashyiiin_, Pearl had come to despise all the little "toots" and "sweet cheeks" and "babe"'s that fell from the slick and eager-to-lie mouths of men. After all, the male populous of her hometown were all ornery and stuck in their ways of women raising the kids and _makin' the sammiches_ or _grabbin' the beer_. There was a piddlin' amount of good men where she lived, her father being one of them. (Although, she might have been a bit biased seeing as she'd idol worshiped her daddy since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.)

If she had her druthers, Pearl would have corrected their misinformed assumptions one-by-one. Not only were they morons without the tools to make proper judgments about the world, but they all looked as if they'd fallen out of an ugly tree at birth and hit every branch face-first on the way down. She hadn't wanted anything to do with them (still didn't) and made it a habit of keeping a good distance, though that ultimately failed when teenage hormones got in the way and she went against logic to "try out" some of the smarter hicks that genuinely liked her. None of the relationships worked out, but Pearl was nothing if not an independent woman, so she never let it get her down.

Well, guess she didn't have to worry about that now.

They were probably all dead or fuck—_walking. _

Squeezing her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth, strutting down the interstate faster than she probably should. Sweat slid incessantly down the length of her spine, no doubt due to overexertion and the fact it was hotter than a whorehouse on Nickel Night. Why on Earth had she agreed to go on break with a group of preppy rich kids to Miami, of all places? She didn't even like them, could barely _tolerate _them.

Flashes of the party, of the death and gore, as they tore into them and they tore into each other, and how she had _run_, run like some_ coward, _flittered across her mind, elusive instances of the past (and the future, because it was unavoidable).

_Poor sons o' bitches. _

Nobody deserved to go down like that.

She had run from that fandango with some hope of leaving it and the memories behind her, only to realize there were traces of that same gore strewn all across the county, all across the _world. _Living holed up in a quaint little old townhouse for near on two months had left her with cabin fever greater than her terror of the outside and it wasn't long after that she had left, climbing into Betsy to look for other survivors.

Pearl hadn't found any.

After another month of searching and learning the way of the world as it was now, she was finally done. _Time to go back home._

A growling noise interrupted her reverie and Pearl immediately drew the Swiss Army Knife clipped to her jean belt loop, flicking open the blade in a matter of seconds. Her gaze darted to and fro, scouting for walkers out in the brush. The growl rose up again accompanied by a hiss and she swiveled on heel, coming toe to mouth with a giant, prowling alligator.

What is it they say?

_When opportunity come'a knockin', open the door with a shotgun locked and loaded._

…or something like that.

Slowly backing away, she started moving around it, trying to get behind it. This was either extremely stupid, or…extremely stupid. _Huh. _She pounced, slamming her hands, one still holding the knife, at the back of its head, holding it down to the best of her ability. It wasn't the biggest 'gator she'd seen in the past couple hours, but it was still pretty big, especially compared to her lithe 5'9", 120 pound frame. It thrashed and snarled, and her mind instantly went to this stupid show about these hick "swamp" hunters. Without further thought, she slammed her knife straight up between the two ridges at the back of its eyes, right through its tiny brain. _You're pretty thankful for that eidetic memory now, aren't you?_

It went limp and she yanked the blade out, breathing heavily. Her stomach growled and Pearl felt a shit-eating grin spread across her face. "Heh, how do you kill an alligator?"

Pearl pushed to her feet, grabbing the longmouth's tail and dragging it away from the water. She let out a breathless chuckle, "Very, very carefully."

Guess she was having gator for dinner tonight.

Later, after she'd stripped the hide and taken all of the meat that looked salvageable from the carcass, Pearl headed on, _walking. _She hardly knew what for anymore.

Then, by some chance in Heaven, Pearl found a car, bloody and crushed in some places, but manageably useable with a plus: three full gas cans in the back and a box of miscellaneous items—food, water, clothes, a radio, and some other junk. The previous owner looked as if he had…thrown up the sponge, backed down, _opted out_. A bullet through the head using a standard issue Baretta, the cartridge half empty and three more on his person, which she quickly shoved in the back of her jeans.

Holding her breath, she shoved the rotting corpse out of the driver's seat and easily climbed in, dropping her backpack in the well by her feet and sinking her ass into the comfortable, encompassing leather seats. She nearly moaned at the soothing ease to her traveler aches and pains. Walking for days and sleeping on the hard cement had left her in a perpetually bad way, like being bucked off a raging mustang (though that had only happened once, because of that stupid boy Brandon and his fake rubber snake). After a moment, Pearl started the engine and pulled away with only thoughts of home (or what was left of it) on her mind.

She'd be in Senoia by morning.

**A/N: So, heads up for anybody that actually **_**reads **_**this (doubtful, it sucks, I know), if I want to keep Daryl (and Pearl for that matter) in character, the actual romance will not happen for quite some time. Though, I'm impatient, so she'll meet the group next chapter.**

—**A Whisper None Can Hear**


	2. Yet the Road is Winding

Bone Orchard

Chapter Two

_Yet the Road is Winding_

**A/N: Enjoy? Maybe?**

These days, waking up to the sound of the dead's unearthly moans sounding in her ears was the standard. It was normal, though she doubted she'd ever stop finding it unnatural.

Hearing the distinct echo of gory fingers scratching against the window of her commandeered Prius, Pearl blinked into consciousness, adjusting her hat from where it lay over her eyes. A single walker leaned against her car door, banging on the glass, coagulated blood tainting its decomposing skin. She recognized the man it used to be: the jovial cashier at the local Piggly Wiggly down the road from her house. It still wore the uniform checkered shirt and "Hi, my name is…" name tag. Except what was once crisp and pressed fabric was now stained and torn.

She started the engine; glad she'd thought to fill the tank before stopping to rest the night previous. Senoia was only about an hour away, but she had barely been able to keep her eyes open, too dragged out to see the road. The third time she'd nearly veered into tree was the final straw; apparently staying awake for 42 hours straight in this world was too much for the human body to handle, even though the mind would only begin acting as if she was dreaming while she was awake after three days. Hallucinating on top of seeing things of nightmares in real life would be just icing on the proverbial shit-cake. She'd rather take her chances waking to something using her guts for an appetizer than lose what was left of her mind.

With a low sigh, she hit the gas, peeling away from that hellish remnant of a past long gone without regret. In the rearview mirror, she could see the walker's Ione corpse hobbling in despondence, like some messed up version of a child reaching for its late mother's spirit. Only that child could be considered everyone left alive and the mother was hope.

_Damn that elusive bitch._

For the next 45 minutes, Pearl entertained herself with humming the old show-tunes her momma favored, though her voice was likely closer in resemblance to that of a cater walling cat than the angels of music who sang the originals. Time passed by quickly and she had just entered the country outskirts of her town after finishing a particularly shoddy rendition of "I Got Life" from _Hair_. It was certainly fitting; after all, she may not be happy or even content, but she was alive and that was enough.

Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach as she came upon "Main Street," witnessing the destruction wrought upon the streets by this infernal pestilence. Florida had been like this—Hell, it'd been worse, but it wasn't Senoia. It wasn't the streets she had walked down hand-in-hand with her daddy before he died. It wasn't the clothing shop where she'd bought her first training bra with her momma crying about her 'baby' growing up. It wasn't the playground where she'd made her first friend, even if they were three years apart in age. It wasn't home.

Finally reaching the turn that led down the long gravel drive to her house, Pearl slowly drove up to the farm, anxiety churning in the pit of her stomach. It was eerily silent; absent of the noises she was accustomed to hearing as she approached. What greeted her as she pulled ahead of the tree line had her slamming on the brakes and darting out of the car to violently vomit up the last thing she'd eaten (alligator, if she remembered correctly).

The rickety old western-style ranch house she had grown up in was gone, replaced with a giant pile of ash and rubble. The sight carved a hole in her blackened heart, leaving her despondent and at sea for what to do next. Her mother was dead; she would have never left. If the house was on fire, she would have sat still and burned with it. The thought had her throwing up bile once more, acid burning her throat painfully, misery coating her insides.

It was real; she'd never see her kind smiling face, never feel her warm arms circling her, never hear her gentle voice greeting her from the kitchen again. Agony reared up like an enraged Stallion, followed closely by a guilt so potent she thought she'd keel over and give herself to the reaper then and there. She was so selfish. _How could I have left her all alone? How could I have abandoned her when she needed me most? _

And even though she knew why, oh God did she know, it didn't matter; it wasn't a good enough reason. Family was everything and she—she had spat on hers by thinking only of herself.

Hobbling unsteadily back to the rumbling car, Pearl fell into the seat, giving into the tempest of emotion welling inside of her. Deep heavy sobs wracked her slender frame, shuddering gasps leaving her throat raw and ablaze. She hadn't cried like this since that first night, when she'd witnessed one of the boys traveling with her on break—_Aidan_, she thought, _Aidan Brittle from your Statistics class_—get torn to pieces by walkers. The Beginning.

_So is this The End, then?_

Wiping her flushed cheeks haphazardly, Pearl punched the gas, accelerating to over 90 mph in a matter of seconds. An overwhelming desire to be reckless hit her with the force of a freight train. She was on a path of destruction, on the shoot and unwilling to pull in her horns. _I don't give a damn._ What did it matter anyway? Who would care if she just disappeared forever, if she just drove until the end of the Earth? Who would miss her, mourn her?

Nobody.

Because everybody she had ever loved was dead.

Her foot pressed down farther, the speedometer going up and up and up until the world was nothing more than a green blur passing her by. Without realizing, she had turned down another familiar path by the highway, a barely-there road of dirt and memories. It had only been several minutes before she reached her destination: a true-blue, Simon pure, rundown cabin in the woods. Her daddy's cabin.

They—_she_—hadn't been there since that last time—a couple months before his heart stopped beating. It was just the same, though, still dilapidated and rickety. Except…it was less friendly now, more…still and intimidating.

Pearl cut the engine quickly, grabbing her backpack as she exited the car. The weight of the handgun in the back of her pants was a comfort, if not a temptation she was loathe to confess to. Somehow, being heeled gave her the feeling of immortality, even though evidence to refute this lay in the scars on her body and calluses of hard work on her hands. However, the logistics that Pearl had always sought to listen to told her the gun wasn't an option this time, not yet at least, so she instead slid the baseball bat from the side pocket of her pack. Nowadays, her title as "best hitter Senoia'd ever saw or see" came in handy; it turned out she was a survivor to the manner born.

_I guess that quote from Horace was true, huh? 'Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant.' Probably would'a never known how good I was at killin' and not gettin' killed if not for the world going to shit._

Slowly, she crept up to the house, steps silent against the dew-ridden ground. A sound, like running feet, crunching leaves in quick succession, had her immediately turning around, stance at the ready for whatever came from the depth of the wood.

Pearl expected the undead.

Pearl didn't expect the little girl.

Her heart pounded like a drum, fear and anxiety coursing like a poison through her veins. She was a sound on the goose believer that children were meant to be protected at all costs, so this hit her and it hit her hard.

The walker—_oh God, she knew him, what he once was: Mr. Kerston, her eighth grade chem teacher—_reached out to grab the girl. As the child opened her mouth to scream, Pearl sprinted forward, one step, two steps, three steps, swinging her bat with the created momentum. The sick sound of skull fracturing and brain matter splattering across the ground echoed in the following silence.

The girl was staring wide-eyed at Pearl, tears and snot streaming down her face in rivers. Her hair was a snarl of dirty blonde tangles nesting about her face, cheeks flushed and limbs quivering with exertion and lingering terror.

Pearl tilted her head to the side, narrowing her enchanting silver orbs, before getting to her feet. She adjusted her hat so it shaded more of her face and took a couple steps forward. Her voice was soft but confident, southern drawl evident and husky, "Are ya' alright?"

She could say nothing back, it seemed, only stand and shake without moving. Pearl set the bloody bat down, leaning it against the bumper of her car beside her. "I ain't gonna hurt ya'."

Still nothing. Pearl tried a different tactic, "Ya' hungry? I've got some Chef Boyardee in the car, and bottled water if ya' want it."

Finally, she gave a response, a single nod, but it was enough.

Pearl smiled.

* * *

Several hours later, after Pearl had set up a perimeter of traps in case anybody decided to visit, saw the two sitting in the living room of the cabin, an open can of spaghetti-o's resting beside the girl—Sophia, she had said her name was—and the left over scraps of gator meat set on Pearl's lap. Conversation flowed easily between the two females, the air friendly and light despite the circumstances.

Pearl had not been in the company of another human being for several months. The sound of Sophia's sweet voice was like music to her ears, a respite in the monotonous repetition of growls and snarls the dead were prone to. However, even if it was a balm to the smothering isolation, she was still a bit weary and curious as to how Sophia had ended up in this neck of the woods—though undoubtedly more curious than weary. She was an ace-high shot and could euchre even the wisest of men in a matter of seconds, so she was fairly confident there was nobody that would jeopardize her safety (although, she'd still be mighty careful, "You n'er know when the goin'll get ruff'er than expected, so expect that, Pearly," her momma always said).

"So, why were ya' travelin' alone through the forest, Phi?" Pearl asked sometime into the night, the harmonizing melodies of crickets chirping, swiping their legs like bows across violin strings, sounding from outside. The single window by the front door showcased stars hidden beneath a thick blanket of fog, the moon peaking through the cover every so often to give light to the room.

Picking idly at her food, Sophia answered, voice betraying her sadness and guilt. "We're traveling with a group, me and my mom, going to a place—a fort or something. We were on the road when a bunch of those things showed up…one almost got me, but I ran into the woods. Rick—mom says he's the leader of our group—ran after me, but had to lead some of them away. He told me to walk back to the road, but I got chased by a walker…and now I'm here."

Pearl nodded, mind racing with this new information. "Come mornin' I'll scout around and check the area for any undead. After I clear out, we'll head over ta' the highway to reunite ya', if they're still there."

Sophia seemed to wilt, all happiness petering out. Her words were soft and almost unheard, "They'll be there. I know they will."

Leaning her head back against the wall, Pearl let loose a heavy sigh, pulling out her messy twin-tails to retie them. Her sun-highlighted white blonde hair fell unhindered in feathery waves to just below her breasts, the ends split from maltreatment and less-than-frequent showers. She could feel Sophia's gaze on her and she looked up, a question in her blazing eyes.

The twelve-year-old held a bashful expression, fidgeting slightly with apprehension. She appeared even younger in this moment, her rainbow shirt dirtied and torn as if she had merely come back inside from a long day of playing, "Can I…Can I do your hair? Please?"

Pearl paused, the comb she kept in her bag in hand. After a moment, she passed it to her, turning when Sophia came to kneel behind her. The feel of the comb methodically running through her hair was relaxing, easing some of the tension in her shoulders and back.

Sophia brushed in silence, humming under her breath every so often. It gave Pearl a warm feeling she would never admit to, just the thought of making the girl feel a bit of peace in this world. There was little left to laugh about, a little less to feel happy about than that. It was no sacrifice on her part, either, so what did she have to lose?

Once Sophia was satisfied that all the knots were gone, she handed the comb back to Pearl, who motioned for her to turn around as well. Her hair was a lot shorter than Pearl's, but extremely thick—beautiful, truly. She'd be a knockout when she was older. Pearl found herself murmuring, "I was an only child growing up…After my daddy died, it was jus' me an' my momma, like you." Sophia said nothing, but turned her head slightly to show she was listening. "I always wanted a li'l sister."

A moment, then two passed, and Sophia nodded. "…I always wanted an older sister."

Pearl continued brushing. She felt somewhat bad that she had instigated this, since she wouldn't be staying with Sophia's group and this was likely the only day she'd be with her, but the feeling was over eclipsed by the burst of happiness erupting in her gut. It had been a mighty long time since she'd felt like that. _Too long. _

Trust was a thing of the past; it had been even before the apocalypse, but that didn't mean the longing was gone. She wanted someone to trust, someone to ride the river with; Sophia could have been it, but she had people waiting for her, people to mourn for her. And Pearl—Pearl had nothing and no one. She suddenly felt so very tired, worn too thin and exhausted beyond reason.

"There," Pearl said as she finished, "You should get some rest. It's been a long day."

Sophia sleepily agreed, sliding up beside her to settle down for the night. Pearl stilled for a moment before slowly wrapping an arm around the smaller girl, pursing her lips as she closed her eyes. _I can't tell if meeting her was a blessing or a curse…Is it better to have had, even for only a short time, and lost or have never had at all?_

Pearl drifted to sleep before she could find an answer.

**A/N: Okay, so I lied…Pearl didn't meet the entire group this chapter. Also, on the matter of Sophia, I know it's been done over and over again, a survivor saving Sophia and then joining the group, but I felt it was necessary. This is a Daryl/OC fic, so I needed to put an end to the developing romance between Carol and Daryl. They bonded over the loss of Sophia, so this is like a way to fix this. Carol will also be playing a (possibly major) part in this, as a motherly figure for Pearl, but I'm still not too sure. Please review if you have the chance! It's much appreciated.**

—**A Whisper None Can Hear**


End file.
